Oh, again
by Amaris Ethne
Summary: By popular demand: the sequel to "Oh". The girls join in on the festivities! What happens when our favorite CSI's get seriously plastered? Well, no one really knows. But there are clues! R for sexual innuendoes and serious kinkyness. (Is that a word?)


Author's Note: All right y'all. I got a bunch of e-mails and reviews asking for a sequel. And at first I wasn't gonna do it and here's why;   
  
A) the first one was written when I was drunk and in an odd little mood that I didn't think I could duplicate  
  
B) I was afraid that I'd end up re-using old ideas and really make this thing suck  
  
C) I was afraid it wouldn't be quite as funny.  
  
Then, I decided what the hell, grab some beer, sit down, and just start writing. The first one was a whole lot of fun to write, and pulled some of the best reviews I've ever gotten. Unfortunately, A B & C were confirmed; some old ideas are used, it's not nearly as funny, and no, I wasn't in the same mood so this is a lot different that then "Oh" and not in a good way, either. It's stupid, doesn't have as much of a theme or plot, and doesn't have as many kinky ideas. And, apparently Catherine is still a bit drunk this morning, 'cuz I hope to God she wouldn't do this when she's not still very, very, very drunk.  
  
But, hey, sit back read, and review, and just try to imagine the characters of CSI actually doing these things. Trust me you'll need a drink afterward. At the moment, I do.  
  
By the way...the contraptions that Nick and Grissom are in are real. They're actually poles on the wall with chains, and then there are straps on the walls also to hold you...some extremely seedy hotels have them, as well as any whore house in the Greater New Orleans Area.   
  
Oh...again  
  
Person #1's POV   
  
Something's under me. Something that is cool, and smooth, and hard. And oddly shaped...and poking me in the ass. I don't mean my backside, or my butt, it is poking me exactly where my ass is. And it feels...kinda good. Not that I would admit it to anyone. I move slightly, and it moves just slightly. Oh! God. Right there.   
  
Oh, God. Again. Again.  
  
Person #2's POV   
  
Uh. What the hell did I drink last night? Whatever it was it feels like a raccoon has crawled up into my mouth and died. I should really learn some restraint. One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor, and 'coon in the mouth in the mornin'. They really should update those shot glasses that I have to add that last part. I move my head, away from a bright light to my right, and instantly wish that I hadn't. God. Whatever I drank, it was more than four tequilas. My stomach flops and I try to curl into the fetal position to keep from throwing up. I can't move my legs. I can't even feel them. And that last time that happened...  
  
Oh, fuck. Not Again.  
  
Person #3's POV   
  
I'm wet. And I'm cold. My head hurts like hell...and there's something on top of me. Something nice, warm, and comfortable and I never want it to move. There's something buzzing not far away, and the sound echoes through by head, and I remember why I don't usually drink. Jesus. Someone just kill me. It feels like a sledge hammer is going off inside my head. But the thing on me...it's just so nice. Maybe I don't want to die yet. I just never want to drink what I did last night, whatever it was, again. Never again.  
  
Person #4's POV   
  
I'm on an angle, and I can't quite figure out what kind. My back's against something hard, and smooth, but my left arm and leg are just dangling below me. There's something around my waist, and around my right ankle. I should be uncomfortable...half my body should be asleep right now, and I know it. But...it's not. I can feel every part of myself. And I can feel something warm near me. Under me...toward where my arms are hanging, and down toward my feet. How the hell did I get in this position in my water bed?   
  
Wait, I can't get in this position in my waterbed. Which means that I'm not in my water bed. I'm not even in my own house.   
  
Oh, shit. Not again.  
  
Person #5's POV   
  
I'm on top of something. It's warm. And there's something wet under that. And something is buzzing. A bee, maybe. Or my cell phone. But, screw it. I'm comfortable. Nothing is wrong. Except maybe, the fuzzy, cloudy feeling in my head. And the pounding headache. Ah, nothing a couple shots of taquilla won't fix. But not now...now I'm going to lay right here.   
  
Maybe to never get back up again.   
  
Person #6's POV   
  
'That's going to leave a rash, ' is my first coherent thought. My next; 'who the hell invited the whole UNLV drum section to have practice in my head?' and, after that; 'why the hell am I naked?' Those were the three things I knew; I had a hangover, I was naked and I was laying on something rough and warm, carpet, probably, that was not comfortable and would leave a rash like the time when I ended up sleeping at Nick's...  
  
Oh, sweet Jesus. Not Again. We did not do it again.   
  
Narrator   
  
The golden lab paced back and forth, from the bedroom out to the living room, pausing to whine at the front door and jump up on the bed to make sure that her owner was indeed not there. It was 12:42 again. And he wasn't home. No one had been in the house since he had left for shift that night, and someone was always in the house before noon. Even if it wasn't her owner. Someone. Something has happened. He's not home...and the neighbor hasn't come in. Oh, no. Will he ever be home again?  
  
Person #1's POV   
  
Okay, okay. That's enough. My ass hurts. And, come to think about it, so does my head. Badly. And there's a bright light coming from somewhere and that's not helping things. Oh, shit. I must not have closed the curtains. Why the hell is it that every time I have a hangover those damned curtains are open? I should get up and close them. But that would require me moving. And I don't want to move, my head hurts.   
  
OW! Shit, someone just tell whoever did that that if they yell again I'll shoot them. I have a gun around here somewhere...  
  
Wait. Why is there someone in my house? And why are they yelling?   
  
Oh, holy mother of shit. Not Again.   
  
Narrator   
  
Nick looked around him, wide-eyed and disbelieving. There were groans from around the room in response to his yelp of surprise upon waking. He was starring out into a hotel room. What hotel, he couldn't remember, but it was kinky as hell. He was chained to the wall, straps around his waist, and around one leg. He was at a weird angle across the wall, and yet oddly comfortable. Glancing down, he saw Grissom, in the same position but facing the opposite way. Nick pressed against the wall, and the pole to which the chain was attached swung around. He landed atop Grissom.  
  
"Oof. Nicky, get off me."   
  
"Huh. Not what you said last night!" someone chimed below. Nick looked down to see Warrick, curled up on the floor, odd splotches of bright colors all over his body.  
  
"What the hell happened to you, man?" he asked. Warrick frowned and looked down at his body. He touched a bright purple splotch. It was hard, like wax. Nick groaned and pressed against Grissom, sending himself flying back the other direction. If his head didn't hurt like fuck, it could have been fun.  
  
"Body wax." He said expertly. Warrick nodded and laid his head back.  
  
"Will you guys shut the fuck up!" Greg yelled from the bed. Grissom looked that way, trying to clear his head.  
  
"Only if you go shut the damn curtains. The light hurts like hell!" Nick retorted. Greg grunted and stuck a leg out of bed. Suddenly, an orange traffic cone fell to the floor.  
  
"Oh. My. God. Greggo, what the hell did you do with that???" No one answered. The answer was obvious.  
  
"Fuck, fuck fuck. Warrick, get me down." Nick demanded. Grissom frowned.   
  
"Where are the keys?"  
  
"One of the girls has them." Warrick answered from below. Everyone stopped. Girls? What girls?  
  
"Ah!!! Jesus! Get off! Get off! Get off!" came the answer from the bathroom. The men looked at each other, before Greg and Warrick took of f to see what the commotion was about. Nick and Grissom...just hung out.   
  
"Well, at least there was no whip this time." Nick said, good-naturally. Grissom just grunted in response and studied the contraption they were attached to. It was kind of neat, in a kinky, I-never-want-to-see-one-of-these-things-again sort of way. He wondered if Lady Heather knew about it. Probably. And if he asked, she might put him in it. While Griss pondered whether that would be particularly bad, he heard another yell.  
  
"God! Greg, get out of here!"   
  
"What, we all saw it last night...in fact we saw you and her..."  
  
"Shut up! Out!" Greg hurried back into the bedroom, a sly smile on his face. It took a minute for Grissom to place the female voice. When he had, he wished he hadn't.   
  
"What the hell is Sara doing here?" Nick asked first. Greg smiled.  
  
"Catherine. And you. And Griss, and herself, if I remember correctly." Nick laid limp against the restraints and restarted his mantra of 'fuck, fuck, fuck.' After a few minutes, Warrick emerged, followed by Sara and Catherine, both holding towels around themselves. Sara's hair was wet, and she looked pissed. Catherine just looked hungover. Warrick looked pleased, in his hand a bright pink vibrator that all the men recognized, still going at full speed.  
  
"I can't get it to shut off." He said simply.   
  
"Where are the keys?" Grissom asked, pulling against the chain on his wrist. Sara shrugged and looked at Catherine, who sauntered over to the wall, carefully inspecting Nick's naked body. He continued him mantra.   
  
"God bless Texas." She whispered to him, just loud enough for everyone to hear.  
  
"Amen!" Greg yelled. Nick stopped his mantra to shoot Catherine his best 'mean' look.  
  
"Give me the damn keys and I'll let you 'bless' Texas all the hell you want."  
  
Catherine let out a low moan, and Greg came up behind her, dangling the keys from his index finger.   
  
"Right here, Tex."   
  
"Greg, get me down."  
  
"Do I get to 'bless Texas'?"  
  
"No. Get me down."  
  
"Not unless I get to..."  
  
"Do the same thing you did to the traffic cone? Get us down, Greg. Now." Grissom interrupted. Greg didn't argue. He undid Nick's lock, letting him fall to the ground with a thud, atop Warrick.  
  
"God, man, you're just getting on top of everyone this morning, aren't ya? I'm feeling left out." Greg whined.  
  
"Hey, Greg," Catherine called, making the lab tech turn. She opened her towel, showing him her 'goods." His jaw dropped.  
  
"Now leave Nicky alone."   
  
"Yeah, Cat, like you did last night? How many times did you two go at it?"  
  
"Too many." Grissom murmured.  
  
"Not enough" Catherine and Nick said at the same time. Meanwhile, Sara was exploring the room.   
  
"Uh, guys?" she asked, pointing to a giant yoga ball. Warrick moaned, remembering what he had done on that.  
  
"I forgot, Nick. You're double jointed." Sara raised her eyebrow.  
  
"When did you figure that out?" no one answered.   
  
"Where are our clothes?" Sara wondered aloud. Everyone looked at each other. They weren't in the bathroom, like last time. Suddenly, Grissom looked toward the window, past the giant rubber ball, the containers of body wax, the handcuffs, and the mini-rack in the corner, toward the slightly open window. No one said a thing.  
  
"Great, we're all going to drive home naked?" Sara asked flopping down onto the bed, onto something hard. She sighed, wondering whether or not she actually wanted to pull back the cover and look. She decided nothing could make this morning worse, so, closing her eyes she ripped the quilt off the bed. To reveal an old-fashioned glass coke bottle, a mini-vibrator inside, still going.   
  
"Hey! That's where that thing went! That was fun!" Greg exclaimed. Everyone groaned.  
  
"You can keep it." Warrick told him.  
  
"But if I ever see that thing at work..."  
  
"You'll do the same thing you did last night?" Nick asked innocently. Grissom glared at him.   
  
"Oh my god, Nicky! What happened to your back?" Sara exclaimed, getting a look at the huge black and blue marks on his back, tracing his shoulder blades and all along the bottom of his back. There were livid scares, too, some old, some recent. Nick looked back at Grissom, who sat against the wall under where he had hung. This time, his boss didn't look apologetic.   
  
"Two words, Sara. The. Rack."   
  
"Oh." Was her only meek reply.  
  
"God, Nick. You just like pain, don't you? The whip. The rack...and where the hell did you get those bite marks?" Warrick asked, inspecting his friend. Instantly, Greg, Grissom, and Catherine raised their hands.   
  
"Jesus! Why does Nick always get all the action during these things?"  
  
"Because, " Greg answered, "did you see Texas?"   
  
"Wait! " Sara exclaimed, carefully scrutinizing the men, "What do you mean 'always' and 'during these things'? You guys have had something like this happen before?" The men were silent, and Catherine smirked at Nick.   
  
"Nicky you don't happen to have pictures of that night, do you?"  
  
"No. And no one had better have any pictures of this night either."   
  
With an evil smile, Catherine held up a camera and five rolls of used film. And this time, there was no fire to throw the incriminating evidence into.  
  
Oh, shit. What had they all done? Again?   
  
Authors Note: Okay, FF.net had been acting up for me for about 3-4 months, so I was unable to post many of the stories that I had written. Finally, I had contacted FF.net, and they helped me fix the problem, but I had another one: I had written a lot of stories during that time, and now I needed to go through and upload them all. Which really wasn't that big of a problem, until I came to this one; I had no earthly recollection of writing this. I'm dead serious. I could remember thinking that I should try my hand at a sequel, but I can't remember ever actually sitting down and writing this. Which means I must have been very, very drunk. And, from reading it the first time and finding the million and one grammatical mistakes, I reckon I was. So, I fixed the grammar (or attempted to) but left the story itself pretty much alone, for better or for worse. I will never in a million years be able to duplicate the type of mood I can only imagine that I was in when I wrote this (at least, God I hope not) so this is a very one-of-a-kind story for me. It is no where near my best work. Though, believe it or not, it is not my worse work either, though it does come very close.   
  
Now to the important question: should one of the girls be pregnant after this? :D It could be fun! Naw. I think I'll let this whole demented thing come to an end. Forever. 


End file.
